Chapter Fifteen
"Wha-what? I don't know what you're talking about," Lorna stumbled over her words once she was able to find her voice again.
Her wide eyes kept away from the officer instead focusing on a random medical poster fastened to the wall near the counter where a sink was located. She couldn't share the truth with CO McCullough—that would only land her in the Florida cell block, something Lorna had been trying so hard to avoid. She knew her mind could be faulty at times but she wasn't like the other inmates in that cell block. Lorna wasn't so crazy she didn't know the difference between reality and not reality.
Maybe the latter hadn't been completely true. Maybe on occasion Lorna might have had a difficult time differentiating between the hallucinations of her mind and what was actually happening in the real world but that didn't make her Florida crazy. No, no, of course not. Lorna certainly hadn't been Florida crazy.
Admitting the truth was never an easy task. McCullough hadn't been surprised that Morello would try to brush it off by pretending she had not a clue what she was referring to. That was a tactic she, as well, had found herself using before when people had questioned her on the burn marks all along her upper arms and thighs. Ignoring the situation was less challenging than facing the reality of it. If one pretended the marks or wounds weren't there then it wasn't real. Out of sight out of mind.
Others who hadn't dealt with self-harming behaviors might think of that as utter nonsense. Hell, it was utter nonsense. But someone who had self-harming tendencies wasn't the most sensical or rational person. McCullough knew she hadn't been the most sensical person when it came to taking those cigarette butts and smashing them into her own flesh.
The curtain being pulled along the track it was attached to interjected whatever conversation was about to be had.
Both sets of eyes were swiftly turned towards where the sound originated from and were met with a female doctor who came walking inside the room, a clipboard in hand and a displeased scowl molded upon her face.
Lorna shuddered when she witnessed the expression the doctor appeared to be displaying. Obviously that meant the doctor realized she was an inmate and had likely already formed a biased opinion of her. She couldn't blame the doctor for such. She was a mentally fucked up criminal who wasn't deserving of this medical attention she had been forced to receive. Medical attention which was being taken away from innocent patients and now being wasted on an evil criminal like herself. No wonder the doctor was staring at her in secret disgust.
Walking over to the patient, the doctor took a seat on the circular backless chair and used the wheels to push it towards the side of the bed where Lorna's injured arm was. Eyes gave an indecipherable stare up on the officer who'd still remained tending to the injury. "I'm gonna need you to let go of her arm now. I need to examine the deepness of the cut and get it properly stitched up," she commanded the blonde woman, her voice rather cool and clearly exposing how much she didn't want to be there.
Officer McCullough did what was requested of her even though she wasn't entirely fond of the doctor's attitude. Something about her didn't seem right, however, McCullough kept the concern to herself. She backed away and stood to the side, though kept a watchful eye on the brunette inmate and the doctor to make sure nothing out of the ordinary happened.
Placing a hand on the bottom of her patient's arm, the doctor raised it slightly for better examination of it. The blood came pouring out like a waterfall which showed how deep the flesh had been cut into. Her head shook objectionably. She reached into the satchel of medical supplies that had been hung over her shoulder, taking out the stitching supplies and needle she needed to close up the wound.
"This is why cutting yourself is stupid. You were one cut away from ending your own life, you know that? Now not only have you wasted my time but you also are taking medical care away from a person who actually needs it. A person who has an illness that they didn't fucking give to themselves."
Scrunching her face up in utter shock, officer McCullough could hardly believe her ears. This doctor had to be one of the most unprofessional, disrespectful, doctors she ever had the displeasure of coming in contact with. She walked to the other side of Morello's bed and instinctively placed a comforting hand onto her uninjured arm. Her mouth opened to say something but Morello beat her to the punch.
"I-I didn't do this to myself," Lorna sputtered out in defense. The words the doctor commented only added to the guilt and shame threatening to come to the surface. She had never imagined a doctor would say some hurtful shit like that to her—even though she knew each word was true. To hear someone else say her own self-loathing thoughts aloud, it hurt way worse than any self-inflicted cut through her skin could.
Taking the needle that now had been threaded through the thick piece of string, the doctor took it down to the wound and started weaving the string through Lorna's flesh. Her head shook at the blatant lie she had just heard come from the girl's mouth. "I've been a doctor here for a decade. I know the difference between a self-inflicted cut and a cut someone else has caused. This one is definitely a cut you did to yourself. I mean I guess when you're stuck in prison you get bored, huh? You wanted a little field trip so you cut yourself, right?"
That was enough. That was just about enough. McCullough held a hand up and waved it violently in the air. "Just because she's an inmate that does not give you the right to speak to her like this. You weren't there to see what happened for her to end up with this cut so stop making wrongful assumptions," anger easily slipped through her voice. She couldn't help herself. She suddenly felt protective of the inmate. Having dealt with her own bout of self-harm McCullough felt a slight closeness to Morello because of that and was determined to help her with this. Even if that meant lying to the doctor—though, she thought, in this instance it was probably in Morello's benefit to lie to the doctor. This doctor clearly had it out for anyone who had a problem with self-destructive behaviors.
Each time the needle weaved through her skin Lorna innately whimpered and winced in pain.
"Stop moving or you'll end up with one hell of an ugly scar," the doctor bitterly demanded.
Her stare then quickly shifted onto the correctional officer. The scowl returned upon her face as she did so. "It's not a wrongful assumption, Officer…" she trailed off for a moment as she took the time to look at the name plaque pinned to the blonde woman's shirt, "McCullough. I've been around long enough to know a damn self-caused wound when I see one and this one on your prisoner's arm is one she fucking put there herself. Why are you defending a criminal who probably only cut herself to get out of prison for a little bit?"
The nerve, McCullough bit her tongue and disapprovingly shook her head. She couldn't believe the damn nerve this woman had to speak to a patient so condescendingly. This doctor would certainly fit in with some of the other officers she worked with back at the prison. "You're making multiple wrongful assumptions, Doctor…" she copied the other by pausing and glancing at the embroidered name on her white coat, "Codine." Another pause was taken in order to keep herself from snickering at the rather ironic name for a doctor no less.
The mispronunciation instantly had her eyes roll irritatingly into their sockets. "It's pronounced Co-Dyne. If you're going to address me at least address me the correct way. And, anyway, it doesn't matter to me how this cut came to be—criminals shouldn't receive healthcare that takes away from normal, innocent, people. It's fucked up is what it is."
Fucked up was what she was. Lorna averted her eyes away from the doctor and stared dishearteningly down at the blanket. That had to be what the doctor wanted to say Lorna's self-loathing mind persuaded her to believe. Hell, she didn't have to be persuaded she wholeheartedly did believe that was exactly what the doctor meant by her words. Not just that the situation was fucked up but also that she, Lorna Morello, was fucked up. A fucked up criminal who deserved no medical care, no compassion, and no care in general. The only thing she was deserving of was rotting away in a secluded prison cell in the same segregation unit Annalisa had been brought to.
More and more disbelief coursed through the officer's veins each time Doctor Codine opened that wicked mouth of hers to spew out some of the most insensitive words she'd ever heard a doctor speak. It was as if they were in some sick and twisted alternate universe where people spoke without filters. That was how incredibly fucked up McCullough found the doctor's statements to be—out of this world fucked up.
"You're a very unprofessional doctor. Doesn't sayin' this nonsense go against your Hippocratic oath or something? You don't even know the reason for this woman being in prison and you're standing there making disturbing judgments about her. God have mercy on your soul if you're ever in the same situation. Just hurry up and get her stitched up so we don't have to deal with you anymore."
Twenty minutes was what it took for the bleeding cut to be completely stitched back up. Twenty, long, excruciating, agonizing, minutes of being ruthlessly stitched up by a doctor who blatantly hated her guts. Lorna was beyond relieved to hear the closing of the curtains after those hellish twenty minutes had passed signaling that doctor Codine was finally out of her hair.
Tears were dried up and stained against the flesh of her pale cheeks. The words were still fresh in her mind and they hurt much worse than when she sliced the tip of that butter knife into her arm those few hours earlier. Lorna turned onto her side staring numbly ahead at the blank wall. She was a burden to society. A burden to the healthcare system, a burden to the prison. She might as well have cut her throat instead. At least that would have killed her and then she wouldn't burden anyone any longer.
A deadly silence took up the atmosphere in the room. Officer McCullough remained standing on the side of the gurney with her hand still comfortingly resting atop Morello's uninjured arm. Her lips flickered into a frown. Morello had never been one to cause trouble for anyone and was certainly one of the least problematic inmates—one of the inmates who deserved this type of disturbing treatment the least. A sigh escaped. She let her fingers naturally brush along the arm they were grasping onto.
"I'm sorry ya had to deal with that, Morello. That was insane. I've never come across a doctor like her before, I can't believe one like her even exists," she truthfully mentioned, sympathy shining through her eyes as they stared down onto the brunette. It was doctors akin to Doctor Codine who were the reason many people with self-harming behaviors refused to seek help. McCullough snuffled and slightly shook her head. Doctor Codine presented a self-harmer's literal worst fear.
Keeping quiet Lorna just puffed out her shoulders and retained her gaze on the wall ahead. Everything that was said was true regardless of whether it was morally right for the doctor to say it aloud. Her being here in the hospital receiving care for a cut she had caused herself was taking away from someone else—someone who had an illness, injury, out of their control. A person who hadn't been a hardened criminal who only burdened their society by requiring medical attention for her weak, self-inflicted, wound.
The lack of response brought up another sigh from McCullough's lungs. In a way she was thankful she had been the one Damiva ran to for help—despite the only reason she presumed Damiva did so was to look like she had a caring bone in her body—the majority of her fellow COs weren't nearly as empathetic towards the inmates as she was. At least that had been what their actions made it seem like. A lot of them took advantage of the authority they had over the inmates and to witness that infuriated McCullough. That wasn't why she became on officer, it never had been—she wanted to help the women in these facilities.
And, now, being there with Morello, she was determined to help her with whatever it was causing her to turn to similar self-mutilating behaviors. It felt like a calling to her. Fate or destiny, maybe. Maybe why she happened to be there when Damiva came looking for a CO was because she had been destined to mentor Morello. It made some sense the more she thought it over. She could relate very well to Morello's situation. She had experience with harming her own body and feeling like it was something she deserved.
"Morello, be honest with me please. How did this cut actually get on your arm? I won't judge you and I will keep this between you and I. But I need you to tell me the truth about it, okay?"
Lorna swallowed and slowly turned her head around to look the officer in the eyes. She stared for an intense few seconds before opening her mouth and inhaling a sharp breath. There was a genuineness Lorna observed lurking in the back of McCullough's eyes. She shifted her own eyes onto her hands resting atop the blanket, huffing out a sigh as she traced her finger along it. "I-I'm not crazy. I'm not emo. Annalisa—she made me cut myself and-and that's why I did it. I'm not crazy," she repeated, a desperation inflecting through her voice.
"I know. You're not crazy, Morello," McCullough softly reassured her, brushing the tips of her fingers softly along her arm.
A frown melded to her face as she kept her stare on the petite inmate. She knew whatever Morello decided to share with her—if she even did so—she would have to keep her word and not let it slip to anyone else. Any other CO would deem her worthy of being sent to the Florida cell block but McCullough believed that to be the bullshit thing to do. That was akin to tossing a person suffering with a mental illness into a psychiatric hospital and throwing away the key. It did no good for anyone.
"You're not crazy," she repeated firmly. No wonder Morello had been hell-bent on keeping the self-harming behavior undisclosed—she feared being considered mental by the rest of the prison, whether it be COs or other inmates. That was relatable for officer McCullough. Having a secretive addiction to burning herself with cigarettes, she had those same fears which made hiding it even more of an enticing choice.
Lorna found her head automatically shaking in response. It didn't matter how many times either one of them repeated that statement. Deep down Lorna knew crazy was exactly the perfect descriptor for herself. Only a crazy individual with a faulty-wired mind would choose to willingly harm themself with a butter knife. Hell, she hadn't even been good at that—a real self-harmer wouldn't use a petty, little, butter knife. Shame morphed upon her face as she kept it pointed down towards the blanket she busied her hands with stroking.
Since it was appearing they would be staying in the ER a while longer—and also because her legs were starting to hurt from the length of time she'd been standing—officer McCullough grabbed one of the plastic chairs and scooted it to Morello's bedside, then gradually sat herself down on it. She cleared her throat and replaced her hand on the same spot it had previously been resting atop Morello's arm. "Can you explain what you mean by Annalisa's made you hurt yourself?"
A heavy question Lorna deemed and swallowed uneasily. Fingers continued messing about with the blanket covering her two slightly restless legs. "Uh, erm, well," she started off by already stammering over her words. Lips trembled at the recollection now flashing through her mind. The memory of being forced to do something she knew would break Nicky's sweet, angelic, heart caused her breath to temporarily get caught in her throat. She wished she could go back those few hours and not be such a meek chicken shit. Wished she could have had the backbone to refuse Annalisa's cruel request.
"If, er, if I tell ya everything," Lorna paused and finally lifted her head to look the officer directly in the eyes. Her own oozed with a pleading glow about them as she continued to stare McCullough down. She remained silent until she witnessed the blonde's head nod slowly in acknowledgement. "Ya…ya promise none a what I say will make me go to Florida? Please, I-I don't wanna be away from Nicky again. I can't, I can't handle that again," her voice cracked and she had to stop from speaking otherwise she knew she'd end up in a sobbing fit.
Acting on autopilot, McCullough pressed her palm gently into the flesh of the arm it laid over and stroked around the area in a circular pattern. Head nodded intently while she returned Morello's distressed gaze with a sympathetic one of her own. It hadn't, at the time, mattered to her whether agreeing to that was breaking the rules of her job or not—she was determined to be there and provide any amount of help, comfort, she could for Morello whatever it was she had been going through. To her, Morello wasn't some crazy criminal who should be thrown away—no, to her, Morello was just a broken woman clearly dealing with a mental illness and if she were to be put in the Florida block all that would happen would be Morello's mental health continuing to decline until she became nothing more than a vegetable. McCullough could not live with herself if she allowed shit like that to go down.
"You're not gonna be sent to Florida, Morello, I promise. This stays between us whatever you share with me. I mean that, I just want you to tell me the truth so I can help you," McCullough did her best to assure the brunette inmate. Her hand kept stroking soothingly along Morello's arm hoping that would somehow convince her the words she spoke were genuine. However, she didn't take offence if Morello had been apprehensive about believing her—most of her coworkers made it hard for the inmates to believe any of them genuinely cared with their actions and behaviors.
"But why do ya care? Why would ya wanna help? I mean there ain't nothin' you can do even if ya do really wanna help because I'm just a stupid criminal," Lorna muttered the same words the doctor had told her earlier. Words that hurt deeply to hear despite being the same words she already knew in her heart were true of herself. She wasn't more than a damn stupid, fucked up, criminal.
McCullough shook her head. Anger rose to the surface. That doctor had no right to speak those menacing words to Morello, she thought while grinding her top teeth into the flesh of her tongue. "I care because I, er, I know what it's like to want to harm yourself. It's not a fun cycle to go through and I don't want anyone to have to go through that shit. That's how I knew your cut isn't from anyone else—I used to cut, too," her voice gradually got quieter and quieter with each disclosure she shared.
Lorna felt a lump form in her throat. Eyes drifted away from the officer over onto her stitched up wound. Guilt came to the surface as she mentally counted each thread of string running through her skin. "I'm not a cutta, officer. I don't cut myself. Annalisa made me do this and that's it. I'm not crazy, I don't hurt myself or think about hurting myself or any a that shit. Why, why would ya even imply that? You think I'm crazy, don't ya?" Tears formed at the bottom of her eyelids, she remained staring away from the blonde. She couldn't look anyone in the eye right now when she knew how much of a damn liar she was.
A sigh tumbled through the older woman's throat. Denial was easier than admitting to having a problem. Anyone suffering from addictive behaviors knew that fact. So, she couldn't blame Morello for outright denying the truth. It was a natural reaction. That was something that took McCullough years to finally overcome. And, therefore, she knew it would be a while before Morello could admit to the truth of the matter as well. Especially since the prison did not offer any viable mental health care or assistance.
"I don't think you're crazy, I think you have a problem and need help with it. First question I need an answer to is how that knife got in the prison? It's clearly not one from our kitchen—I'm assuming it's from the kitchen at the immigration center, yeah?"
Once again Lorna's stare drifted in the opposite direction of McCullough. Taped to the wall was a poster that caught her attention, eyes quickly focused in on it. She would have scoffed if she wasn't so drained of all her emotions. How fitting, she thought, the poster displayed contact information for those who may have felt suicidal. As if the room had somehow gotten a hold of her thoughts. "I might have taken it the other day. I didn't do it to get no one in trouble or to hurt anyone else, I swear."
Nodding, the blonde sighed and gave a sympathetic look down at Morello. "I believe ya wouldn't take it to hurt anyone else or purposefully take it to try to get someone else in trouble for it. But why did you take it?" Eyebrows quirked ponderously above her highly concerned eyes. It was a question she already knew the response to, however, she needed to hear it come directly from the source. She didn't want to put words in Morello's mouth.
"I—I don't know I just slid it in my pocket and took it." Frustration was quickly growing the more McCullough prodded her on the matter. She reached her hands up and massaged the tips of her thumbs into the flesh of her temples.
Mirroring Morello's actions, McCullough lifted a hand up to her own forehead and rubbed her fingers along its width in the hopes of easing away the forming headache. "There has to be an actual reason you took it, though, Morello. What was it that made you slip it in your pocket?" The plethora of queries might not have been the best way to get the inmate to open up but McCullough figured it was better to get to the point than dance around it which would certainly just be similar to putting a band-aid on a wound without treating the actual cause of said symptom.
Closing her eyes Lorna took in a breath and irritatingly let it out noisily through her nose. This felt like an interrogation and she couldn't stand being thrown so many damn questions at once. They were exhausting her draining her already frayed mental state. One more question and she swore her head would detach itself right the hell off the rest of her body. "I saw it and took it. I just—I wanted to punish myself, okay? So I saw the knife and stuck it in my pocket, took it to the closet and sliced it through my skin. But I didn't plan to do that today. Today Annalisa really forced me to do it so that…so that she could make Nicky walk in on me cutting myself and-and she wanted," gradually Lorna's voice became more and more distressed the more she explained how the day's events came to be.
The revelation naturally settled a pang in McCullough's chest. Now the truth was starting to come to fruition. Hearing it easily brought a strong wave of sympathy over her. "Where did you cut yourself the first time? How many times have you cut yourself since that first one?" Again she couldn't refrain from asking multiple questions. Sympathy naturally brought forth worry and wonderment within her. Plus, she figured focusing on that would lessen the agony talking about today's incident was obviously causing Morello.
She was already in so deep now that Lorna figured it would be pointless to put up her usual façade. More than what she would have liked had already been shared, what was the harm in going all out and spilling everything? McCullough promised more than once she wouldn't utter a word of this to anyone so Lorna knew it was safe to open up to her. She just needed to ignore the self-hatred telling her to keep quiet. A task that was rather challenging to partake in. The self-hatred was almost always overwhelmingly intense—it was easier to give in than to fight it.
Taking a deep breath, Lorna closed her eyes and blew the air back out through her agape lips. Maybe telling someone would help—McCullough had been neutral territory; telling her would be less of a challenge than telling Nicky who she had a lot of emotions and feelings with. "My, er, my other arm," she muttered, pointing a finger at it as she lifted that arm up and moved it slightly towards the blonde so she could have a better look.
Her own eyes fixed themselves on the faded cut, she traced her thumb along it and snuffled a bit. The second time she went to the closet to attempt to cut herself again was when she was interjected by Annalisa which caused this whole current incident to take place at all. Lorna shook her head while biting into the flesh of her tongue. None of this would be occurring if Annalisa hadn't come in the closet that godforsaken day. "I only cut myself that one time. I wanted to do it again a couple weeks ago but Annalisa caught me in the closet before I got the chance—she, she took my knife and that's why all this shit happened today."
Thank God she took the knife was what McCullough wanted to respond with but refrained for a multitude of reasons. One, Damiva was a dangerous inmate and her being in possession of a sharp object—despite it being only a butter knife—certainly could have jeopardized many of the other women and, clearly, it did not end well for Morello. Two, the comment would do nothing productive for either of their mental well-beings. So it stayed as an unsaid thought in her mind.
Mentally pushing it away, McCullough grabbed a cautious hold of the arm being outstretched in front of her and closely examined the area where she'd seen Morello point to. The cut was healed and scabbed over but that didn't take away from the shock McCullough felt to look at it. Morello needed help. Professional help from a therapist but there was absolutely no way the prison would even consider providing that to her. Just like the bitch of a doctor said the prison only thought of the women as criminals who deserved no proper medical or mental health care at all. They only gave what was required by law and that fact made it hard for McCullough to come to work every day. She wanted to make a difference in the women's lives but what the hell good was she if her recommendations to the warden only landed women in a cell-block where even less care was given to them? A lose-lose situation was what that was.
"This isn't a healthy coping skill, Morello. You don't deserve to feel so bad that you think cutting yourself will make ya feel better. You need therapy and I wish I could help get that for you but you and I both know how fucked up the prison system is, yeah?"
Therapy? Therapy, Lorna gritted her teeth together at the mere thought. The last thing she needed was fucking therapy—not after all the times she'd tried it and each time she left her session even crazier than before. No therapist cared about her. No therapist wanted to help her. They just called her crazy and sent her away. "No one in prison has healthy coping skills. Why the hell ya think we're criminals?"
Regardless of the somber atmosphere looming in the room, Morello's statement ignited a slight chuckle out of McCullough. Her head nodded in agreement. Unhealthy coping skills were likely the reason why many of the women ended up in there. One didn't get sent to prison over spilling spoiled milk on the kitchen counter. But, still, that didn't negate the fact Morello needed psychological help which was much more than what the prison could provide.
The chuckling ceased as quickly as it started. She patted her hand gently onto the arm remaining in front of her and then finally let go of it. "That doesn't mean you aren't in need of more help, though. I won't share any of this with anyone else but if ya feel like cutting yourself again, will you promise you'll find someone to talk to? Like Nichols or if you're too scared to talk to her about it right now, you're always welcome to come find me. I know how hard it is to not give in to the urge to self-harm. That's the best advice I can give while you're stuck in here. When you're released, you really need to look into getting a therapist."
"Okay, fine. Fine, whatever. As long as I don't get put in Florida I'll er I'll try not to do it again." Lorna meekly promised though she knew she likely wouldn't keep it. If the opportunity arose she'd have to take it and run. She needed punished for the rest of her life for everything she had done to Nicky without even meaning to. For what she had done to her own baby boy. Both had suffered because of her and she wouldn't allow herself to go on with her life unpunished.